Stone Cylinder

Stalked into the kitchen. Dark tiles. Sniffed out a heavy barricade on the low shelf. A grey pestle resting beside a thick stone mortar. Solid granite. Rough grain. Reached both fists in. Grabbed the stone pestle. Dense. Heavy in the grip. I rolled it across the mortar hollow, grinding deep stone against stone. Sharp grating roar. White dust flared up beneath the rim. Set my feet wide. Slammed the pestle straight down into the bowl. A solid, deafening crack. Didn't budge. Unbroken rock. Good. The shelf belongs to me now.